Wrong Time, Wrong Place
by TiTivillus
Summary: A hold-up in the convenience store is about the last thing Dean needs on top of having to take care of a sick little brother. Pre-series. Teen!Chesters. Sick!Sam. BAMF!Big-Bro!Dean.


**Title:** Wrong Time, Wrong Place

 **Summary:** _A hold-up in the convenience store is about the last thing Dean needs on top of having to take care of a sick little brother. Pre-series. Teen!Chesters. Sick!Sam. BAMF!Big-Bro!Dean. Outside POV._

 **Warning:** Rated K+ for bad language, mention of firearms and mild violence.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Supernatural.

 **Author's notes:** Dean's 17 and Sam's 13.

* * *

Working the night shift at the convenience store wasn't exactly every man's dream come true.

It was a crap job with a shitty pay and a hell of a lot of risks attached to your name badge, but when you're already two months late on your rent and barely know how to make it through the month, it's not like you have a whole lot of options. Beggars can't be choosers and all.

The only good thing that came out of it, really, was the fact that I have always enjoyed the act of people watching and as a clerk in the convenience store you came by the weirdest assembly of people that you could possibly think of.

Ranging from middle-aged truckers looking for a brief relief from their hour-long drives across the country to drunken frat-boys wanting to restock their supply on booze, the variety in Seven Eleven customers was as diverse as it probably got.

Some of them I could have honestly done without, but others… others were _interesting_. Providing me with just the right kind of inspiration an aspiring writer like myself needed.

That's why I always kept a notebook on the counter, ready to jolt down the most striking characteristics of the people that would later turn into carefully crafted characters for my stories.

Working in a store that was opened 24/7 I preferred the early shifts, seeing as how there were more customers during the day than at night, but after a stomach bug had invaded the office and pretty much held half of the crew under siege, my boss had me doing overtime and running the night shifts to compensate for their sorry asses.

It didn't exactly make me happy, but at least I would be able to pay my bills at the end of the month.

So while I was staring down at the notebook in front of me, letters blurring in and out of focus after nine hours of work and practically no business to kill the time, I was more than a little surprised to hear the doorbell pronouncing the arrival of a new customer.

The guy that stepped into the store was young- probably in his early twenties and as soon as he looked up to meet my gaze, I instantly knew he was the interesting kind.

The kind that good stories are made of.

He had hand-mussed dirty blond hair and eyes green enough to match the dollar bills in my cash register. The battered-looking leather jacket sat a little too loosely on his narrow frame, but it matched his gruff appearance and the devil-may-care attitude that bordered on dangerous.

He was wearing a black T-shirt beneath his jacket and jeans that looked more washed-out and holey than my own, but when he sauntered up to the counter with more swagger and self-confidence than I have ever owned in my entire life- I knew right then and there, that this kid was going to become the new basis for a lead character.

"Pump five," he said, shooting a quick glance out of the shop window to where his car was parked in the dim lights of the gas station. "Can you cut me off at 30?"

I followed his gaze out to the parking lot and nearly choked on my own tongue at the sleek Chevy that was sitting next to pump number five as if it fucking belonged there. It was hard to make out exact details over the distance, but I had seen my fair share of old-timers before and this one clearly took the cake.

"Dude," I shook my head, barely able to hide the grin that threatened to escape me. "Don't tell me that ride's yours."

This guy was a freaking baby in a leather jacket. I refused to believe the universe was cruel enough to give him good looks, a badass attitude that would give Charlie Bronson a run for his money AND the mother of all cars on top of that.

But apparently I had just been dealt a crap hand when I was born because the guy's face lit up in a way that could only mean he was the proud owner of the car.

"Impala '67," he announced with child-like enthusiasm and my hands were twitching with the urge to jolt it all down in my notebook- to capture every detail the guy was willing to share with me before he would inevitably leave the doors of the store and disappeared forever. "Got it from my old man."

I whistled low under my breath, shaking my head a little in amicable incredulity. "Lucky you. I'd give my right arm for a spin in that beauty."

The guy chuckled, eyes downcast as he pulled a wad of crumpled bills from his jeans. "Sorry man, but her and I- we're kind of exclusive, if you know what I mean."

I laughed at the joke, surprised by the ease of the playful comeback and by how I found myself opening up to a complete stranger.

I also couldn't shake the feeling that this sense of exclusiveness probably didn't extend beyond the love he held for this car- if the wayward smile and the self-confident swagger of the guy were anything to go by.

I could imagine he was used to drawing attention of the good and bad kind- turning heads pretty much everywhere he went and feeling confident in that, embracing it even, instead of shying away from it like most people would.

The guy was completely comfortable in his skin and it was kind of hard to not be drawn in by that kind of self-confidence.

"Besides, I wouldn't let you get anywhere near the steering wheel if you only got one functioning arm."

I found myself chuckling once again. Typing in the code for pump five, I took the twenty dollars, figuring the guy probably had people to see and places to go if the amount of times he twisted back to shoot a slightly worried glance towards his car- almost as if it was physically painful to leave it out of sight for too long, was anything to go by.

Maybe he had a lady on the back seat of his Chevy-looking the way he did, they were probably standing in line for him.

"You wouldn't happen to have any Tylenol, would you?"

The question threw me a little.

"Got a headache?" I grimaced at the prospect of having to shoot him down. "Sorry man, we only have snacks and shit… no medical stuff of any kind. If you're willing to take a little detour, I could give you pointers for the closest pharmacy, but they probably won't be opened until seven or so."

"Nah, never mind. The time it's gonna take me to get there, I might as well burn on the highway," he shrugged a shoulder, but I couldn't help noticing the concerned look he threw back towards the car, more worry-lines than before etched into his forehead.

"You got a bathroom around somewhere?"

"Sure," I handed him the keys to the employee bathroom without a second thought. "In the back. Make sure to lock it when you get out."

We had a customer toilet as well, but it hadn't been properly cleaned in ages and the guy looked like he really just needed a few minutes to take a leak and get freshened up before getting back on the road, so I figured it was okay.

Not like my boss ever watched these freaking video tapes anyway.

Just as the guy made his way to the back office, the doorbell rang again and both our heads whipped around at the announcement of a new customer entering the store.

I opened my mouth, ready to give the usual greeting phrase when my eyes fell onto the disheveled-looking kid in the doorway.

It was a young boy around eleven, twelve- definitely too fucking young to be roaming the streets all by himself at 1:30 am in the morning.

Tensing ever so slightly, I barely had enough time to give the boy a once-over, mind racing for a plausible explanation for why a freaking tween was in my store without parental supervision in the middle of the night, before everything clicked into place.

The kid's slightly glassy eyes instinctively latched onto the older boy with the leather jacket and there was no mistaking the glimmer of instant relief in them when he found what he was looking for.

"Dean."

"Sam, what are you doing out here?" the older guy responded, sounding mildly alarmed as he made his way back to the center of the store and brushed the kid's sweat-soaked strands from his forehead- palm lingering over the skin there as if to test him for temperature. "Thought I'd told you to wait in the car, kiddo."

Wait… In the car? As in… _the_ car?

So these two belonged together.

The younger boy blinked up at the taller one with unfocused eyes and it was only when his features were fully illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs of the store that I noticed the unhealthy pallor and waxy tone of his skin.

His scrawny frame was shaking in the air-conditioned store, shoulders trembling noticeably despite the several layers of clothing he was wearing and suddenly the older boy's request for Tylenol made sense.

Kid was sporting a fever and a pretty serious one at that if the unnatural flush of his bony cheeks was anything to go by.

"You took a long time," the boy rasped out, voice hoarse and shaky from lack of use. "I thought that maybe something _happened,_ " his breath caught on the word -eyes clouded over with pain and confusion as he dug his fingers into the older boy's jacket almost desperately.

"Hey," Dean's voice was gentle and soft- nothing left of the cowboy bravado he'd shown just a minute ago. "It's alright, Sammy... I just stopped for gas. Nothing happened, okay?"

I found myself intrigued by their interaction- by the way, the younger boy seemed to gravitate towards the older one, practically melting against Dean's frame in a gesture of complete and unquestioned trust.

It was fascinating to watch the transition from Dean's badass attitude to this much gentler version of himself- a side of his character that was probably reserved for few people in his life.

It gave his character more depth- more dimension.

Made him even more interesting because this kid- whether it was a brother or a cousin or the son of a friend, obviously meant a lot to him. I could see it in the way Dean looked at him- in the gentle affection of his voice and touch, the appraising way he cast his eyes over the boy's body.

"I don't feel so good…" Sam sniffled- rubbing a hand over his eyes like a sleepy toddler. "Can we go, now?"

Dean gave him a reassuring smile, but it did nothing to hide the worry in his parental gaze.

I knew it didn't make any sense given how young Dean still was but I was starting to wonder if maybe the boy was his son...

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Dean smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "What do you say we blow this popsicle stand and hightail it to Bobby's, huh?"

Sam nodded jerkily at the suggestion, looking miserable and in urgent need of a hug. I found myself wanting to wrap him up in a fluffy blanket and feed him some hot chicken-noodle soup or something… _anything_ to erase that sad, lost, puppy-dog look from his eyes.

Which was weird, because I had never been particularly fond of kids… especially not when they were strangers.

But there was just something about this Sam that made me feel for him. It was in the adoring way he looked up at Dean like the guy had hung the freaking moon and the stars. And in the way he was shrinking in on himself- self-conscious under my watchful gaze, like being sick was something to be ashamed of- like it was somehow his fault.

"How about you go wait in the car for me? I need to the bathroom before we leave."

"I'll wait here for you," Sam bit his bottom lip, hesitant to leave Dean's side.

Dean sighed. "Sam, you're shivering. Get in the car, alright?"

Sam looked ready to argue, mouth opening in protest, when I cleared my throat, drawing their attention away from each other and back to me. "I… uh, I could keep an eye on him if you want. I mean you're only gonna be gone for a minute, right?"

Dean's eyes narrowed and whatever moment I thought we had shared over his car earlier was instantly forgotten- his green eyes ablaze with a fiery protectiveness that would have put a grizzly bear's to shame. "Yeah, no, I don't think so, pal. No offense, but I barely know you. There's no way I'm gonna leave you alone with my brother."

"Deaan…" Sam whined, sounding mildly embarrassed and I didn't even have the nerve to be pissed about the guy's response because my ears were still ringing with the fact that they were _brothers_.

Somehow that made them even more special in my eyes- because where other siblings their age would be fighting each other tooth and nails- these two seemed almost unnaturally close.

Maybe they were orphans.

"Ok, let's go, I'll just stop somewhere on the road…" Dean rolled his eyes, sounding miffed.

I felt my heart lunge with panic at the thought of them leaving. "Dude, just go take a leak before you pop a vein or something. I might be many things, but I'm not a freaking perv, alright?"

Dean gave me a hard look and for a second I thought he was going to blow me off- or _kill me_ \- either one of these two options, but to my big surprise he just let out a sigh and shrugged out of his leather jacket before dropping down on one knee and carefully wrapping it around the kid's shoulders. "You stay right here, alright? I'll be back in a sec."

Sam nodded and Dean turned around to face me, index finger pointed at me like an imaginary gun. "You try _anything_ with him and your toast, capisce?"

I was very tempted to roll my eyes at the guy, but then I thought better of it, figuring he wouldn't appreciate the snark. I had to hand it to him, for a freaking teenager he was pretty intimidating.

"Sure, man," I agreed, already regretting my decision to have given him the keys to the employee's bathroom. Dean rolled his neck and threw a last glance in his brother's direction on his way to the door, visibly distraught by the fact that he had to leave the kid's side.

Motherhenning much? And here I was, thinking _I_ had issues.

I thought I'd heard him mutter something as he passed the counter ( _Christo?_ ) but surely that couldn't have been it, so I shrugged it off, thinking I might have imagined it.

As soon as Dean was out of sight, my eyes were instantly drawn to the other boy…Sam. I smiled at him a little awkwardly, never having been particularly good with kids.

"So uh… you're sick?" I cleared my voice, fiddling with my sketchbook and taking down a few quick notes.

Sam looked at me warily, gaze flickering from my face to where my hands were jolting down the two boy's names and a rough description of their looks.

 _Scrawny_ and _introverted_ were the first things I wrote down underneath "SAM", but then I looked at him again and added _kinda cute_ to the list… because, well, he just looked so goddamn' lost amidst the isles filled with snack bars and magazines- practically dwarfed by Dean's leather jacket and the way his eyes kept tracking back towards the door his brother had vanished through was just adorable.

This was the kind of stuff his readers would squee over- the shy kid with the shaggy hair and dimpled smile… innocent in a way that made him vulnerable- that made others want to protect him, yeah- that was the stuff that good stories were made off.

"You're not much of a talker, huh? That's alright… I was kinda shy around strangers myself when I was little."

I glanced out of the shop window at the black chevy and took down the license plate- just in case.

 _KAZ 2Y5. – Kansas._

Huh. Looked like these boys had come a long way.

"I'm thirteen," Sam threw me an indignant look, my throwaway comment about his age having apparently irked.

"Of course," I smiled apologetically, adding _'proud'_ to his list of characteristics. "My bad."

He looked younger than thirteen, the flush of the fever making his cheeks rosy- the hoodie practically pooling around his trim waist, eyes sunken in and blood-shot.

"Is your brother always like this?" I pushed, nodding towards the door Dean had vanished through.

"Like what?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing like he took personal offense in the question- like I had just _badmouthed_ Dean when I was just trying to see if he was always this protective- always this doting.

However, I never got to make myself clear when the front door was opened a third time that night. I looked up in surprise, not having expected another customer. Usually, the dead hours of the night were reserved for cigarettes and watching old reruns of Full House on the flimsy TV-station in the back office. They were never really this busy.

Sam- who had been standing close to the door, flinched when he looked up at the middle-aged man who had joined them in the store. Guy was wearing a gray bomber jacket- collar popped and sleeves rolled up in a way that could only mean trouble.

"Hey," I put my notebook aside, rounding the counter on mere instinct as if to try and put myself between the kid and the stranger. The thought of having this guy anywhere close to the boy was oddly disturbing. "Can I help you somehow?"

"Yeah, actually you can," the guy gave me a cold grin, eyes flashing and I noticed a second too late that he had one hand buried inside his jacket. Oh shit. Before I could do anything but take a hurried backward step and nearly tripping over my own feet, the guy had drawn his gun and pointed it straight at my face. "Get your fucking ass behind that counter and open your register!"

Funny how your whole fucking world can screech to a sudden halt when faced with the gaping barrel of a '45. I felt like somebody had sucker-punched me- all the air suddenly sucked from my lungs.

Cold sweat was breaking out on my skin, fingers trembling as I lifted them up in the air. "Easy, man, let's just talk about this—"

"Shut the fuck up and give me the goddamn' money!"

Alright, no talking then… that was cool.

I swallowed, stumbling back towards the register with my hands extended in the air above my head- his gun still pointed steadily at my forehead. In the back of my mind, I realized that the guy wasn't even wearing a mask to hide his face. _What an idiot._

However that realization did _nothing_ to reassure me.

Stupid people were usually also the most _dangerous_.

My eyes suddenly flickered over to Sam who was clutching Dean's leather jacket like a lifeline- eyes wide and terrified, skin devoid of any color.

The robber followed my gaze over to the kid like he hadn't even noticed him until now and I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid.

"The hell," the guy growled out before grabbing a handful of Sam's sweater and gruffly yanking him forward. Sam's let out a shocked yelp, dirty sneakers skidding against the blue tiles as the robber shifted his aim from me to the kid- probably going with the easier target. "That little bastard yours?"

 _No,_ I wanted to say… _no, he's not. But you really don't wanna be waving that gun in his face when mama bear comes back from the bathroom break (whenever that might be- don't worry, Dean… we've got this covered. Seriously. Take your fucking time)._

"Let go!" Sam struggled against the man's hold and then- much to my surprise- landed a swift and well-aimed kick to the man's calf that had me gaping at him in half-shock-half-admiration. The robber growled out in pain, momentarily losing his hold on Sam, but the kid wasn't done with him yet, following his attack with a second, much harder punch to the guy's stomach.

Okay.

What the _actual fuck_ was going on here?

How had this seemingly harmless boy suddenly transformed into karate kid in the span of three fucking seconds? I might not have known a whole lot about kids in general- but if I knew one thing it was that they weren't supposed to be this good at close combat- especially when sporting a high fever.

I threw a nervous glance at the door Dean had vanished through not too long ago.

 _Anytime now, Dean. Anytime._

"You little shit!" the robber gasped, slamming the butt of his gun down on the boy's temple and sending him sprawling to the floor. Sam yelped out in pain, arms shooting up to protect his head from further blows.

I grimaced when I saw the vicious looking laceration on the boy's forehead- blood dripping steadly from beneath his bony fingers as he curled up on the dirty tiles.

"Oh, you're gonna regret this," the guy hissed, pressing the mouth of his gun against Sam's blood-smeared temple- a steady trickle of crimson running down the kid's temple and along the defined cut of his cheeks. "I'm gonna snuff you like a candle."

Sam flinched in the man's grasp- visibly terrified and something inside of me snapped at the sight.

"Don't!" I yelled, heart beating frantically in my chest. "Don't hurt him."

I didn't want to die, but watching some innocent thirteen-year-old die on my behalf wasn't in the cards either. "I'll give you the fucking money, man- w-whatever you want, but let the kid go… just don't hurt him, alright?"

I opened the cash register, quickly bagging the wadded bills in there, hoping the guy wasn't going to count it- because it sure as hell wasn't a lot, when the door to the back office was suddenly thrown wide open, causing all three of us to whip around.

"Drop the gun and back off of my brother!" Dean was standing in the doorway, wide stance and steady aim, the metallic click of the safety being taken off, resonating loudly through the small store.

His face was one of stone-cold fury when he stared down his barrel at the guy who held a weapon against his little brother's face, completely devoid of emotion. There wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind that Dean was going to pull the trigger if the guy didn't catch a hint and got the hell away from Sam.

The robber's face was one of shock and confusion- obviously not having expected anyone else to be in the store. His hands were shaking- gaze flickering nervously from Sam over to Dean and then at myself. "What the fuck are you—"

"I said _drop the gun_ , you son of a bitch!" Dean spat out, taking a threatening step forward. "Drop it NOW or so help me god, you'll leave this place in a goddamn' body bag."

 _Okay… wow. Just wow._

Not only did these kids laugh in the face of death- they apparently also carried loaded weapons around with them and sneered one-liners at the bad guys like they had never done anything else in their lives. Like getting a gun shoved into your face was nothing but a nuisance- an irritating waste of their time.

If these guys weren't novel material, I didn't know what else was.

"And who the hell are you?" Gun still digging into Sam's forehead, the robber was holding the kid in place with a cruel grip on his auburn bangs. The kid whimpered at the way the metal bit into his skin and a flicker of something dangerous crossed Dean's features at the sound and sight of his brother's pain.

 _What a stupid bastard._

"I'm the guy who's gonna put a bullet between your eyes if you don't get the fuck off my brother," he gritted out between clenched teeth, spittle flying from his mouth and even I knew the guy wasn't to be messed with in this state he was currently in.

"Brother, huh?" The guy hesitated for another second before finally letting go of Sam's hair and getting up from the floor, gun still trained at the kid even as he grabbed the paper bag and slowly backed up towards the entrance. " _Fine_ , I'm fucking outta here… don't try anything, or the kid's a goner, you hear?"

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until the door closed behind him and he started running, vanishing into the night. The air rushed out of me in one swoop and I sagged against the counter, legs proverbially turned into spaghetti.

"Sammy, god, Sam, are you okay? C'mere, let me see," Dean was on the ground next to his brother in a rush, gently cupping his jaw and lifting up his head to examine the head injury that still sluggishly oozed some blood. He checked the boy's pupils too, probably looking for a concussion and ran his fingers over the kids neck and cheeks appraisingly.

It all had an oddly routine vibe to it- Sam just letting his brother's practiced fingers probe and prod like they'd done this a million times before. "You hurt anywhere else? How does your head feel? You feeling concussion-y?"

"'M fine," Sam sighed, sounding exhausted. "Just a headache..." Then he sagged against his older brother's chest and for a moment they just sat there on the ground, holding each other like they hadn't just been part of a robbery.

I watched them from afar, not daring to break the moment until they had calmed down a little- until I had my own breathing back under control. Then I gathered my bearings and rounded the counter crouching down beside them both.

Dean instantly tensed, fingers tightening again around his gun as he shot me a warning glower, arms still wrapped around his baby brother's back.

The message was clear.

 _Stay the hell away from him._

"We got some bandages and a first aid case in the back office… that should help until the paramedics get here."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, we're not gonna stay that long."

I looked at him incredulously. "Dude, your brother got knocked up pretty good from what I can tell and he's bleeding—"

"I've had worse…" Sam mumbled against Dean's chest and surely I must have heard that wrong because the boy had just been put through hell- staring down a gun's end for the better part of ten minutes and not knowing if he would come out of it alive. How was he even talking right now? Much less trying to _console_ me?

Dean carded his fingers through the kid's hair, careful to avoid the shallow gash just below his hairline and then straightened up from the ground, gently pulling Sam up along with him.

"You good?" he sniffed, visibly shaken by everything that had happened, his own worry and the fear of losing his brother finally bleeding through his voice.

Sam looked up at him with a wavering smile- more for Dean's reassurance than anything else and nodded. "Can we go to Bobby's now? I'm kinda beat…"

Dean laughed- a trembling, watery sound, before pulling the kid in for a quick hug."Yeah," he sniffed, ruffling his brother's hair with a smile of his own. "Yeah let's get the hell out of here… I think that was enough action for one day."

 _For one day?_ More like enough action for an entire life.

Dean suddenly turned towards me and I took an instinctive step back, the murderous look he shot me earlier still vivid in my mind. This guy certainly wasn't to be messed with… I had no intentions to piss him off.

"Are you gonna get in trouble if I grab a few things?" Dean gestured towards the isles behind him and I just gaped at him for a second, not really knowing what he meant.

Grab a few things like what exactly? Spearmint chewing gum? The fucking _Reader's Digest_?

These kids had just been involved in a holdup and a hostage situation and now they wanted to do grocery shopping?

"Dude," Dean flicked his fingers in front of my face. "I'm talking to you."

I watched him holster his gun and sliding the keys to the back office over the counter top, before ripping myself out of my rigor. "Knock yourself out, man. I'll turn a blind eye."

Not like I cared about this shithole anyway. I was gonna quit my job as soon as the cops got here.

"Sweet," Dean grinned, wiggling his eyebrows- all cocky bravado like nothing had ever happened. "Don't forget to grab some snack on the way out, Sammy. Dinner's on the house."

"We can't just take things without paying for them, Dean," Sam protested in a small voice. "It's bad enough that the robber left with all the money."

Funny how the kid still had the good conscience to lecture his brother, even in the wake of everything that had happened.

"No hard feelings, Sam… just go and grab whatever you want," I sighed, shaking my head. "It's the least I can offer you two."

After all, if it hadn't been for me and my stupid curiosity- Dean wouldn't have used the bathroom and the brothers would have been long gone before the robber appeared in the store. Then again, if that had been the case- maybe I would be dead now... who knew.

Sammy gave me a small smile, thankful and sweet and kind of bashful and it wasn't hard at all to see why Dean was so fond of him.

The older brother had already loaded his arms with groceries, a few cans of soup (tomato and rice?), a bottle of apple juice, crackers and red Gatorade. Something told me he hadn't picked any of these things for himself.

I mentally added the word _'selfless'_ to the side of my notebook that was dedicated to Dean. On second thought I also added _'nurturing'_ and _'maternal'_ because the thought of Sammy all nestled up in bed while Dean fed him soup and medication was not going to leave my mind anytime soon.

"C'mon, let's hit the road, kiddo," Dean shoved through the door and waited for Sam to catch up with him.

Once his younger brother was outside, Dean turned to face me one last time. "Look, I got nothing against you man, but you so much as say _one_ word to the cops about me or my brother, our car, the license plate… anything at all- and I'll come back. And buddy," he laughed, shaking his head a little. "You don't want me to come back."

My mouth dropped open in denial- in half-protest, idly wondering how he knew about me wanting to write a book when it suddenly dawned on me. My eyes shot down to the place where I usually kept my notebook and then widened instantly when I found it vacated.

"Looking for this?" Dean grinned at me, pulling my leather-bound booklet with my notes out of his jeans and waving it teasingly through the air.

 _That sneaky little bastard…_

"I think I'll take this with me, just in case," he winked at me before vanishing through the door, leaving me for once in my life- at an absolute loss for words.

 **The END.**

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Hey _guys! Just something I've come up with a while ago. I've wanted to do an Outside POV for a long time and then this kinda just wrote itself. If you like the outside POV, I could make a series of one-shots of it- each chapter a different perspective :) Please tell me what you thought! Reviews make my day :)_


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